Drama

I believe that some day, the boy will respond to his personal crises with a calm, calculating demeanor.

Today is not that day.

First up, this morning he started looking for his DS. His search started where he was sure he’d left it the night before. It continued in that general spot. It ended in that spot.

In between, he would walk away. Each time his level of agitation increasing. It “started in low, then it started to grow.” He muttered half-intelligible things like “It has to be here…” in a whiny, weepy tone. Sometimes the “here” would be more like “heeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-uh.” He dug more frantically through the area each time he went back to it, certain he had somehow just missed seeing the large black carrying case his DS resides in.

He refused to listen to anything the Wife suggested, like other spots it might be. He refused to listen to anything logical, like if it wasn’t where he was looking it was probably someplace else. “NO! IT HAS TO BE HERE! THIS IS WHERE I LEFT IT!” was the retort. He was also fatalistic, declaring it gone forever and that he needed a new one. I almost snorted my milk through my nose at that point.

He never did find it. He went to school this morning miserable, certain it would never be found. His final request to me before heading for the school doors was that I would look for it. He walked off, shoulders slumped.

I found it 5 minutes after I got home.

It was in his sister’s hockey bag. Long story short, we were drying out hockey gear and they left everything out in front of the fireplace to get it dry. When we asked them to clean up, clearly the lass also knocked the DS into her bag along the way.

The boy’s next chance to practice his crisis management skills came up just before dinner. Sometime last week, he’d ordered a book about making balloon animals through Amazon.

No seriously, he did.

That book arrived today along with a bunch of balloons and a pump for inflating them. He was very excited and opened it up immediately to see what kind of cool things he could make.

His first attempt resulted in a balloon popping in his hands.

His second attempt he tried to make a sword following the book’s instructions, but it didn’t work out. So he turned it into a dog and gave it to his sister.

His third attempt, the balloon popped while inflating it. The color started to rise in his cheeks.

His fourth attempt, the balloon popped while inflating it. He threw it’s shattered remains on the floor and screamed “WHAT KIND OF STUPID BALLOONS DOES AMAZON USE!?!” The weepy whiny tone set in shortly thereafter. “What’s the point of the balloons if they’re all going to pop?”

He made a fifth attempt. It popped as well. I’m pretty sure the noise that emanated from his voice confused any birds in the general area. Possibly some small woodland mammals as well. He grabbed the remaining pack of balloons and attempted to rip them in half. Ironically, they stretched on him and he failed.

The attempt seemed cathartic though, as he calmed down after that.

I’m certain he won’t always be this emotional about every little, or big, thing that doesn’t go his way. I was once in his shoes and the troubles of childhood can seem enormous from that myopic perspective. Somewhere along the way, perspective starts to settle in and we become a little more practiced in dealing with misfortune. Whatever form it may take. The boy isn’t there.

At least, not today.